Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 91434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Instead of heading back to the bakery, I make my way home. Taking my time, I enjoy the sounds of the lawnmowers off in the distance as well as a couple of people outside sitting on their front porches. A few lift their hand and wave at me, and I smile and wave back. It’s such a big difference from where I was less than a month ago. In the middle of Chicago, I never even met my neighbors and had no idea what they even looked like.
The company I worked for had lots of subcontractors, so there was no office to go into. Everyone would work in their own space. I knew their faces through Zoom calls we had once a month to discuss contracts coming in. I finished up the last contract I had with them two days after I arrived and gave the next one I would be working on to someone I worked with occasionally. I also took myself out of the rotation for the upcoming contracts. Because I technically work for myself, there was no one to talk to about it.
I walk up the steps toward the house and turn the handle, stepping inside and finding my mother lying on the couch. Her body is to the side, and the smell of something cooking in the kitchen fills the house. I put my stuff down quietly, walk over to the kitchen, and find the crock-pot working its magic. I pull open the fridge before grabbing some sweet tea and then walking upstairs to answer several emails.
One of the graphic designers has gotten back to me with an idea about branding. I go through a couple of the mock-ups she sent me and send them back with a few modifications. I only close my computer when I hear movement from downstairs.
I see my mother in the kitchen, and she looks over at me. “Hey, baby,” she says softly, “how was today?”
“Good.” I tell her about getting a truck, but I don’t tell her I went to Brock’s place. I’ll tell her if she asks, but I’m not bringing him up. It’s like he’s the big elephant in the room, right next to Oliver, who we aren’t talking about.
We have dinner together, and after dinner, I start making the dough for the donuts I want to try making the next day. I place the bowl in the fridge and go sit outside in the darkness, watching the stars. I get up, and my feet start making their way to the trees that line the back of her yard.
My head is down as I hear the sound of the creek, knowing I’m only hurting myself by going there. The memories and dreams that come after I leave there are torture. It’s like I’m trying to hurt myself.
Making my way over to our little spot, I never think in a million years that he is going to be here. I stop when I see him sitting down, looking at the creek. His head turns to the side to see me. “Jesus, fuck,” he hisses out, making me angry.
“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” I snap as he turns and gets up to his feet.
“Great, it’s like I can’t fucking escape you.” He exhales deeply. “You’re fucking everywhere.”
“Trust me, if I knew you were here”—I shake my head—“I would have stayed far, far away from here. Away from you. The last thing I want to do is be in your presence.”
“Good, at least the feeling is fucking mutual.” He laughs. “At least we have that in common.”
“Trust me, we have nothing in common.” I don’t even know why I’m answering him. I should just leave.
“What do you want from me?” he asks. I don’t know why, but I finally ask him what I wanted to ask him all those years ago.
“Not a damn fucking thing,” I snap at him. “Actually, I have a question for you. Why?” I ask the question as my heart beats so hard in my chest I’m sure he can even hear it. “Why did you do it?”
“What?” he asks, his voice in a whisper, and I know the last thing he was expecting was for me to confront him on this. I see his thumb and forefinger rub together, a little thing he does when he’s nervous.
“Why?” I ask him again, my voice going higher than it was before. “I want to know why you did it.”
“Everleigh,” he says, his voice broken when he says my name.
“No, I kept playing things over and over in my head. Wondering and thinking about the whole thing, and for the life of me, I can’t find a good enough reason.” I shake my head, the tears running down my cheeks, and I don’t even try to hide them. “I want to know fucking why.”